Nemnan-Dogor

Aegyth laid down the hairbrush.  She had tugged it through Éowyn’s mass of hair over a hundred times, till shone like beaten gold.  The young maiden stared off into space, as Aegyth lowered the golden circlet on to her head.  Aegyth looked the girl over – at seventeen Éowyn was fully formed, slender and not particularly tall; her shape belied her strength.  Aegyth had seen Éowyn training with her blade and knew, for she remembered, that Éowyn was as sharp as the Steelsheen had been.  Though of late Éowyn had been pensive and oftentimes distracted, Aegyth did not doubt that she could become as great as her ancestress.  She touched the girl’s shoulder and said, “I shall be in the hall.  Éomer will come for you.”

Many men and few women were assembled in the hall, as it had always been these past years.  Aegyth could only just remember a time when the hall had been full of women’s laughter, but most had never known such joy.  All the women of Eorl’s house, save Éowyn, had withered and fallen, and Aegyth could not help but feel that the Hall was a little darker for it.  She wondered often what wyrd had stalked those women, fair and courageous to a fault, that they had all made such unhappy ends.  Aegyth had served Eorl’s house since Thengel’s return from Gondor, since the death of her husband Hengest, and had seen each of Thengel’s daughters to death.  Most had died before they had even been wed, and Aegyth had wept for each of them, wishing that she could have filled their graves.

Éowyn was fairer even than her mother, who had been the fairest of Thengel’s daughters, and as strong as any of them.  Aegyth had glimpsed what others had not, in those small moments when Éowyn’s will held sway, and she knew that when the time came Éowyn would be as stern as steel.  Aegyth could not deny that she was fiercely proud of Théodwyn’s daughter, but she could not but feel that she was justified.  She who had seen so many of Eorl’s house come and go, she was right to pride herself that this young scion of his blood would not fade.

Still there was a something in Éowyn, something she could not name, but which frightened her.  The girl was as strong as her brother, stronger in some ways, yet Aegyth sometimes found herself deeply afraid for her.  Elfara’s death had hurt Éowyn terribly, and though she had continued to perform every duty to perfection, and had taken care that no one should suffer by any lack of care on her part, at times Aegyth had seen her staring into space like a wounded animal.

Aegyth sought Éomer, that he might bring Éowyn before the king.  She made her way through the many Riders clustered at the back of the hall, laughing and wassailing, and walked to the dais.  Grima son of Gamlod caught sight of her, and he attempted to wave her away but she ignored him.  She misliked the King’s advisor, and thought that Éowyn, though she was scrupulously polite when speaking of and to him, was not overly fond of him either.  Théoden King spoke with Forlong the Fat of Lossarnach, his cousin.  His presence was hardly surprising Aegyth thought – the old man was well known for his love of revels, and attended every gathering he could.  Others however had come who were surprising.  Duilin, the oldest son of Morthond, and Dervorin, the oldest son of Ringló Vale, and both had travelled far from their lands to reach Edoras.  Elphir of Dol Amroth was among those clustered around Théodred, and most surprising of all Boromir of Gondor stood in conversation with Éomer.  He was a tall, dark-haired man who was fair of face and Aegyth did not doubt that many of the wenchs of Edoras would be eyeing him this night.  Not that she was aware of such goings-on – she held herself as far above them as she possibly could, for she would not sully her station as caretaker of Eorl’s hall by gossip.  Having discovered Éomer she made her way to him, and said, “My lord Éomer, your sister awaits.”  Éomer made his apologies and left, and Aegyth found herself a seat that would afford her a view of the dais.

Éowyn gripped her brother’s arm with one damp hand.  She was shaking from head to foot with supressed terror.  All day she had been closeted away, and no one had thought to inform her how many people had come.  Meduseld was full almost to the rafters and each and every one of them had their eyes fixed on her.  Though many of the people of Edoras had come, her Uncle was sorrounded by men she had never seen before and could not name – say the dark one who stood beside Théodred.  His jerkin bore a white tree and Éowyn knew what the symbol meant – Boromir of Gondor had come as Grima had foreseen.  That was interesting.

Éomer brought her before the dais and then left her to stand alone.  Her Uncle looked down on her, and she wondered idly when his hair had silvered, and why had she not noticed it before?  He spoke, his voice dry and hollow, “Éowyn, Éomund’s daughter, why have you come forth?”

Éowyn licked her lips, and suddenly her voice rang out in the hall, “To swear allegiance to my lord Théoden King”.  Without thought she knelt before him, and a small, detached part of her realised that although she could barely remember her own name, her voice and body already knew exactly what she had to do.  She held her hands out to her King, palms upward and he said, “Are you true of heart?”

“I am my King”

“Is your swordarm strong?”

“It is my King”

“Will you be faithful to your lord?”

“In all things my King”

“Will anyone speak for you Éowyn, Éomund’s daughter?”

Éomer stepped forward, “I shall speak for her my King.”

Théoden held Éowyn’s hands between his, and said, “Swear to me now daughter”, and Éowyn spoke in a clear voice, “I swear Théoden, lord of the Riddermark, to serve thee and thine heirs, so long as blood quickens my veins.  All that my lord bids me I shall perform in good faith.  With a bright sword and honour unstained I shall serve till my lord release me, or my wyrd take me.”  Tears pricked her eyes, and she bent her head to kiss her Uncle’s hand.

He bid her stand beside his throne, and Théoden spoke to the mass, “Riders and Wives of Rohan I give thee Éowyn, byrele of Meduseld, Shieldmaiden of the Mark and your Lady of Rohan.”  They cheered for her, and Éowyn hung her head in astonishment – she was not their defender, nor their heir and she could only assume that they cheered her because they loved her.  Théoden spoke to her, “Éowyn?” handing her a wægsweord, “Take it, it is yours.”  She held it in her two hands, astonished at its beauty, as her Uncle gestured for quiet.  Théoden asked her, “What shall you name it?”

She drew the sword and passed it briefly through the air, it felt beautiful in her hand.  She spoke softly, “She shall be called witan his leode my King”.  He looked her over and said, “So shall it be”.  Éowyn smiled, and took the chalice of mead that a maidservant handed to her; lifting it to her King she said, “Hagolian Théoden king” and all in the hall lifted their glasses.

Éowyn smiled up at her dance partner, thankful that he had rescued her from a confusing predicament.  When the first dance had been called, she had been inundated with offers, and had been confused as to whom she ought to choose.  Fortunately Gondor’s heir had stepped forward, saying, “Gondor would be honoured above all things if I might claim the first dance of Rohan’s fairest”.  After a speech like that she could not refuse him, and she could refuse the others without seeming ungracious. 

He was very tall, and at least Théodred’s age, if not older, and Éowyn had been a little intimidated at first, but there was something in his bearing and speech that set her at her ease.  He spoke to her as though he were interested in what she said, and Éowyn was in a mood to appreciate that above all things.  He smiled at her as they finished the dance and said, “I have a gift for you lady of Rohan.”

She was surprised and asked, “A gift?”  He laughed at her enthuasiasm, and said, “Aye a gift my lady.  My brother and I heard how you asked our last ambassador many questions of Gondor, and my brother thought that this would prove enjoyable.”  He handed her a leather bound book and indicated that she should open it.  When she lifted the cover a map of Minas Tirith was shown, drawn in delicate detail on sheets of vellum.  Éowyn gasped, “It’s beautiful!”

“You like it then?”

“Like it?  I shall not be content till I have studied it for many hours!”

“I am glad my Lady.  There are many more maps in this book, of Lamedon and Dol Amroth and Ithilien and many more places.”

Éowyn sighed with pleasure as she turned the pages, “Thank you truly, it is a beautiful gift.  I have always wished to know more of Gondor, for my grandmother, the Steelsheen, was of your country.”  She could feel Boromir’s eyes studying her, but there was no malice in them, so she did not mind it.  He eased it from her hands, saying, “I shall convey your thanks to my brother then, for it was he who drew them.  Shall I ask a maidservant to bring the book to your room?”

Éowyn nodded, and said, “If it would not trouble you, would you be so kind as to look over these with me tomorrow?  I would know more of these lands than just their names.”  He looked at her, and a smile broke across his face unwilling, as he said, “Of course my lady.  I would be honoured to.”  She looked up at him and couldn’t help but think that his face was much improved when he seemed happy.  She had opened her mouth to ask about his brother, for she had often found that people waxed eloquent about their siblings, when Théodred interrupted, “Éowyn, Blostma would speak with you if you are free.  She has news for you.”

Éowyn turned and said, “Forgive me”.  She curtsied to the older man, and left to search for Blostma.  She did not see Théodred and Boromir seek a room where they could converse in private, for she was swiftly overwhelmed by the throng.  It took her several minutes to find Blostma.  The older woman was talking with Hama, but she curtsied as soon as Éowyn hove into view.  They sat together, and Blostma bubbled, in a slightly drunken tone, “I wanted you to know my Lady, we, that is, I am to marry Helm.”

Éowyn nearly swayed from shock, but fortunately Blostma did not notice.  Collecting her wits Éowyn asked, “When did this happen?”

“Well Helm and Sitric were friends, so Helm always wanted to look out for me, you know, and of course, he wanted to take care of Modwyn, so we just decided that it would make more sense if we married.  Will you come Lady Éowyn?”

“Of course Blostma!  I will be happy to dance at your wedding.  When is it to be?”

“In a six weeks.  We are to wed along with a friend of lord Éomer’s, Poldon, that’s his name.”

Éowyn looked at Blostma surprised, but she did not for a moment believe that she was lying.  She was about to ask as to the identity of the bride, when Grima’s voice asked her to dance.  She stood up with him, glad to escape Blostma for a moment.  He held her hand in one of his, and it was smooth and uncallused – even when compared to her own.  She stared into space and he said, “So my lady beorhtfeax have you enjoyed your nemnan-dogor?”

“Aye Grima.  I thank you for all the pains this must have cost you.”

“It was nothing my lady.  I see you have spoken with the Steward’s son?”

“Aye – he is a very kind man, and brave I have heard it said.”  Her tone was distracted, and he looked at her.  “You have heard of Poldon’s marriage my Lady?”

“Yea.  Blostma just told me of it.”

“I hope you are not too disappointed”

“Not really at all actually.  Now it seems I never truly had his love, for all that he said.  I did not wish to have it, but…”

“You shall have one man’s love at least Lady Éowyn, I promise you.”

“Thank you.”

Éowyn spent the rest of that night in dance and talk and song.  No voice was gayer, no foot lighter and no laugh heard more, and yet a heaviness lay on her heart for all her endeavours to forget it.  Thoughts of Elfara plagued her still, and often she suffered nightmares which pictured her friend’s suffering.  Nor could she forget that her nemnan-dogor, for all the revelry that attended it, meant that she was named now, and she had to take up her duties in the Golden Hall.  After she sang the song of Eorl for the company she sought her bed, but sleep came to her only slowly, her mind resisting oblivion.

While Éowyn danced with Grima, Théodred and Boromir spoke words of camraderie in a small chamber off the hall.  Eventually the conversation turned to serious matters, and Théodred asked Boromir, “Why have you come here?”  Boromir cocked an eyebrow at his friend, and said, “Truly?  I am here for the same reason all the others have come.  I am sniffing out an advantage.”

Théodred sighed, “Grima said it might be so.”

“The king’s advisor?  I did not think he looked on me with a friendly eye.”

“Is Rohan so mistrusted by your father that he seeks to strengthen our links through marriage?”

Boromir leaned back in his chair, massaging the bridge of his nose, “I hardly know Théodred, my father’s policies are his alone.  He simply asked me to see what the prospects might be.”

“You know our laws?”

”A little.”

“By our law Éowyn must be ‘full willing’ to be wed, and Éomer, for one, would not allow it to proceed any other way.  As for myself I have no desire to force my cousin into marriage.”

“Then the rumours are untrue?  You do not intend to marry her yourself?”

“Hardly.  Even if I harboured such feelings for Éowyn, which I do not, I would not desire to have an idiot for an heir.  If it were possible I would hope that she might marry for love.  But what is you opinion?”

“She would do well in Gondor your cousin…but given what you have said I think my father will change his mind.  He would not make an offer unless he was certain it would be accepted.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No – I have no desire to bed children, and nor does my brother for that matter.”

“The offer would have been for your brother?”

“Aye.  My father would prefer his heirs to be of pure Numenorean blood.  I think my brother will be relieved – he did not look kindly on the idea of marrying a woman he did not know.”

“Especially one so young.”

“Exactly.  But Théodred, we will not be the only ones seeking her hand.”

“There were many elder sons here tonight.  Why so many?”

“Dark times.  You may not have seen as much of it as those on Gondor’s borders, but you must be aware…”

“Aye”

“All are looking for closer ties now.”

The next day Boromir of Gondor spent two hours telling Éowyn of Rohan tales of his home.  She was fascinated by each story he told, but in particular by those about Ithilien – simply because of its name.  Yet later when he took his leave, she was pale and still, refusing to meet his eye.  Tears had lined her cheeks and her hand trembled, but she would not tell him what was wrong.  Her brother and cousin had already ridden out, and all the guests were leaving with him, so she was left alone in Meduseld – save for her Uncle, and the councillor, who Boromir disliked.

A month later Grima stood in front of his master and trembled.  The old man looked down at him and said, “You are a fool Grima, and you nearly ruined everything.  Only the girl’s own fear has saved you.  Had you paid more attention to you duty you would not have made such a mistake – but you let yourself become distracted by the prize.  You have disappointed me.  Do not disapoint me again.  Go now, and find out what you can.”

Glossary

Nemnan-dogor – Name Day.  The concept I have in mind is that of the day an heir is formally named as such – hence Éowyn is named as the Shieldmaiden of the Mark.

Wyrd – A monster.  A combination of fate and the dragon

Byrele – Cup-bearer

Wægsweord – sword with wavy pattern.

Witan his leode – Guard of the people

Hagolian – Hail

Beorhtfeax – bright/shining hair.